


Christmas In Blue Chair Bay

by TheAssassinRenevaron



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Season/Series 01, Slow Burn, Vacation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:06:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7861138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAssassinRenevaron/pseuds/TheAssassinRenevaron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The winter holidays are vastly approaching and FBI profiler, Elizabeth Keen, needs to be anywhere but DC when they finally roll around. With the death of her adoptive father, Sam, and the betrayel of her ex-husband heavy on her mind...she enlists in Reddington's help to escape the country for a much-needed vacation. Only it doesn't really go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I need to talk to you.”

_Do you have any idea what time it is?_ Is what she expects to hear from him, but instead he surprises her and sighs.

“Alright.” He says, and Elizabeth’s shoulders drop in relief; the death grip she has on her cell phone loosens. “Meet me at the diner on 24th Street in half an hour.”

The diner is empty. As it should be, she supposes, at twelve in the morning. It’s just her and him and their irritated (yet trying to hide it) waitress. She reminds them every five minutes that they close in half an hour.

It’s one of those old-fashioned diners; the ones that still use a jukebox and have red and white tiles and hang pictures of old cars and Marilyn Monroe on the wall. It looks to be a place he would thrive in...but with him here, sitting before her, it doesn't suit him. Or maybe she’s just too used to seeing him in places you have to make reservations for. Either way it doesn’t look right, though his choice of clothing coupled with the diner's atmosphere manages to make her wonder if she'd been transported back in time a few decades.

Soft elevator music sings from the speaker above Elizabeth’s head and she squirms in her seat, uncomfortable and restless. She rubs at the scar on her wrist and bites her lip, staring at the window in hopes that something out there may be able to give her the push she needs to talk to him about what she called him here for. A black Mercedes sits out front, right across from their window. It’s running, so she knows who must be in the driver’s seat.

Raymond Reddington sits across from her at their booth by the window, his fedora pulled low over his brow while he nurses a steaming cup of coffee between his hands and admires the paper. He looks tired, but he puts on a show for her. She still feels guilty for waking him up.

“Eat your pie, Lizzie.” He flips a page in the paper, not looking at her as he speaks. He probably doesn’t have to look at her to know she’s scowling at him now. “Berry pies are meant to be enjoyed warm...not subject to grow cold while you try and figure out what to say to me.”

She’s wasting his time, is what he’s saying. He’s just too polite (at least to her) to say it outright. Lizzie sighs and picks up her fork to remove a chunk from her mixed-berry pie he _insisted_ she try. She pops the piece in her mouth and takes a long time to savor the taste, her mind racing.

With a sigh, he neatly folds the newspaper and pushes it and his plate (empty of his own piece of pie save for a few crumbs) away to lean back in the booth. He hooks his arms around the top and studies her with that half-smile he reserves only for her, patiently waiting for her to address what was on her mind.

“I want out of the country.” She spits it out before she loses her nerve and Red’s body stiffens, obviously put off guard by that. She wonders what he’d thought she was going to say, though she figures he probably came here tonight expecting to have to weasel his way out of talking about her past yet again. Reddington's left eye twitches, evidence of his emotions despite the blankness of his face, and she watches his tongue dart out to wet his lips.

She waits with baited breath for him to speak. Eventually, his arms slip down into his lap and he shifts, perching his elbows on the table and clasping his fingers together while he leans towards her. She sees concern in his eyes. “Lizzie-”

“Just for a few weeks.” She hurriedly explains, sensing the possibility of a lecture due to miscommunication, and matches his steady gaze with one of her own. “I need a vacation. I don’t even care where. I just… _Please_ , Red? With Sam and now Tom...I can’t be here right now. Not with Christmas a week and a half away."

He is silent again for a few moments. She wonders if he’ll tell her no; give her some story about how he can’t protect her if she’s out of the country. He leans back against the booth. “Where would you like to go?”

She blinked. While that was the answer she'd hoped for, it certainly wasn’t the one she’d expected. It took her a moment to respond.

“Surprise me.”

* * *

She was flying out in an hour and she still had no idea where her destination would be. Reddington refused to tell her, which both excited and infuriated her. How was she supposed to know what to pack if she didn’t know where she was going?

The only reasonable explanation to that was to pack a little bit of everything; though she leaned heavily towards swimwear and shorts in hopes that he’d have picked a warm climate to send her to. Maybe the Bahamas? She was regretting telling him to surprise her now. What if he sent her to Antarctica? She wouldn’t mind that either, though, honestly. She just needed to pretend her life was _normal_ for a little while; that she wasn’t Special Agent Elizabeth Keen of the FBI with the failed marriage and fake husband and Raymond Reddington’s little...handler. 

Speaking of Reddington… She glanced over towards the digital clock perched on the nightstand of her motel room. It flashed the time at her in neon blue colors. Five minutes till four. It was uncharacteristic of him to be late like this. He'd called her this morning to inform her that he'd be there at three thirty. So where the hell was he?

A knock at her door made her smile. She zipped her suitcase closed and rushed to open the door. She forgot to peer through the peep hole, which was something she really should get in the habit of doing again, but it was only Dembe at the door. He smiled kindly at her.

“Raymond’s in the car. Are you ready to go, Elizabeth?”

“Absolutely.” She laughed breathlessly, her excitement getting the best of her as Dembe politely took her duffle from her and led her across the parking lot towards Red's car. Taking a vacation had been a good idea. She needed this.

Red opened the car door for her from where he sat inside and flashed her a smile from behind his amber sunglasses. “Lizzie! I apologize for the delay. We ran into a little traffic.” By the small blood splatter on the lapel of his jacket and the crimson smear on his neck that he’d missed with his handkerchief, she severely doubted it’d been traffic that’d delayed him.

Still, she joined him in the backseat as Dembe loaded her things and steered the car towards the direction of the airport. “So? What’s the verdict? Where will I be spending my two weeks of my oh-so-precious paid leave?” Her muscles were loose and relax just at the thought of having fourteen days to herself, and she couldn’t help but smile as she leaned back into the leather seat. She imagined being on a beach somewhere, soaking in the sun, and feeling the sand beneath her toes… But then her thoughts strayed to the last time she’d taken a real vacation. It’d been in Paris with Tom right after they’d gotten engaged. Little had she known, it’d been a pleasure trip for her and a “business” trip for him. Her good mood instantly evaporated at the reminder.

“Someplace warm, with snow-capped mountains, and rolling hills, and the most _astonishing_ sunsets... It's quite famous for a particular brand of Vodka, and it's populated by some of the most wonderful people I’ve ever met, Lizzie. And, _oh_ , the _history!_ The castles - Dembe, do you remember that one in Kungsbacka?” Red laughed at what must have been a fond memory and leaned foreword to squeeze Dembe’s shoulder, beaming up at his friend as they locked eyes in the mirror. Reddington always seemed to glow when he spoke of his exploits. He turned to Elizabeth now, his smile never dimming even as she sighed, rolled her eyes, and prepared herself for another story. All she’d wanted was a simple answer, but of course that wasn't what she would receive. “We visited the Tjolöholm Castle a few years back. And if I remember correctly, the movie Melancholia was being filmed there at that time. It was a rather...well…” He sucked air between his teeth, squinting his eyes and tilting his head, looking almost pained. It was a gesture signature only to Raymond Reddington; just another twitch that enhanced his character. “It was a _trying_ film, for lack of better words. I had mixed feelings on it. Anyway, the castle and the scenery is magnificent. I’ve reserved you a place right on the Gulf, however. Away from all the hustle and bustle. You-”

“ _Red."_  Elizabeth quickly silenced him - unable to take any more of his rambling and half answers. She knew he was trying to give her hope at guessing her destination for herself by mentioning the vodka and the movie and the foreign names but she hadn’t the slightest clue where to start. She hadn’t brushed up on her history since Quantico. “God, would it kill you to give a straight answer for _once_ in your life?” She pressed two fingers to her temples to fight off an oncoming headache, tired of his constant games, but then she forced herself to calm down. She couldn’t be mad at him, not when he’d done all this for her. She just had to survive one more hour. Just one more hour and she’d be free. Liz couldn’t deny that what he described sounded wonderful, however, even if she did hate him and his stories ninety percent of the time. “I just wanted to know where exactly I was headed, not be given riddles until my head explodes.”

His green eyes bored into her own baby blue ones when she finally looked up again, and he settled her with a withering look.

‘ _Be patient, Lizzie_.’ She could hear his voice in her head even as he himself said nothing, and God, if just his presence wasn’t bad enough...now he was taking over her thoughts.

“You insisted I surprise you.”

She grunted in response.

Red’s fingers tapped a quiet beat on the armrest of his car for the rest of the trip, but otherwise all was quiet after that. No one spoke, Dembe never one for words anyway, and the more talkative pair in the back lost in their own separate thoughts.

“Wait. Dembe?” Liz looked up from the window quickly. “You missed the exit to the airport.”

Dembe glanced at her in the rearview mirror, then quickly over at Reddington, whom pursed his lips and was ultimately the one to answer her. “You’re not going to the airport, Lizzie.”

Elizabeth's eyes widened, a mixture of fear and anger quickly replacing her surprise. What was he doing? Despair settled like a brick in her stomach. Had she upset him? Was he going to shoot her? Or kidnap her? She shouldn't have snapped at him. No, that wasn't it. Such thoughts were foolish. He was a hardened criminal, but he’d made it clear he would never intentionally harm her. Maybe he'd changed his mind about aiding her in this vacation. "What? ...Red?”

He held up a hand to silence her and she froze mid-complaint, her heart racing up until the moment he laughed. “Relax, Elizabeth. You’re taking my jet.”

As if to prove that theory, Dembe pulled off onto a private airstrip where Raymond’s jet sat waiting. The door was already open for her, steps lowered in preparation for their arrival. She’d been expecting first class seats to _wherever_ on a public plane, sipping wine alongside snotty rich people, not this. She glanced uneasily towards Reddington, trying to determine what he was up to, but he just continued to tap his nails against the door and stare out the window. It took her a minute to realize that he was humming, Mozart no less, and was tapping his fingers to it.

It was when Dembe opened the trunk to gather her things that she realized his plan.

“No.” She crossed her arms and leveled Red with a glare. He smiled behind his sunglasses, hands pushed into his pockets as they stood outside the car in the summer sun. His face was set in a perfect painting of innocence. 

“‘No’ to what, Lizzie?” That smug smile of his widened a fraction and it took all Liz had to keep from scratching it off his face, her anger at him returning.

Her mouth gaped as she tried to put together words to properly suit the swirl of emotions inside her. She gestured towards his bags in the trunk, perched neatly next to her own. “ _This._ ” It was the best she could do in her current state. She wanted to yell at him, to demand he not go, but she couldn’t do that. Well, she could, but she couldn’t very well force him from his own jet on a trip _he_ paid for. The thought of demanding to be taken back home, to enjoy her two weeks off in the comfort of her slippers and fuzzy pajamas and Netflix, crossed her mind…but she didn’t necessarily want to do that, either. She’d been excited for this trip and sitting in her motel room, eating cold Chinese takeout, and wasting away on the bed didn’t sound appealing. It would be boring and she knew she’d just end up going back to work long before she was due.

“My God.” He laughed. _Laughed_. “I’ve never seen so many emotions cross a person’s face before, Lizzie.” Red, looking for all the world like he was enjoying this, did nothing but watch her in amusement; like she was some circus monkey having a tantrum. She glared at him and crossed her arms, infuriated that he thought so little of her happiness that he’d take this away from her. Two weeks. Two weeks away from him and the Task Force and the painful memories of her ex-husband and adopted father was all she’d asked for. And he couldn’t even give her that. “Oh cheer up. I'm not tagging along to ruin your vacation, Elizabeth. If anything, I'll be making it better! Consider me your professional tour guide." He gave her a tight-lipped smile, his hands still pushed into his pockets. "I know all the best restaurants." 

Liz sighed. She could feel a tension headache begin to cluster behind her eyes. Her fiery temper once more boiling beneath her skin. "I'm assuming this is another one of your plans to keep me safe?" Of course it was. There was no use pretending otherwise. 

"Dembe and I are going with you,” he stated, like it already wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world. “To - yes - ensure your safety. Lizzie, I know you want-"

“From who?! Eskimos? I don’t even know where I’m going! Damnit, Reddington, how many times do I have to tell you? I don’t want your protection!” She hoped she didn’t come off as acting like a child, one who stomped their foot and cried at the grocery story, but she supposed it wouldn’t matter if she did. He seemed to insist on viewing her like one. “I wouldn’t need it if it weren't for you, anyway!”

She saw his eyes narrow and darken a fraction and the muscle in his jaw lept under the strain he ground his teeth under. She’d hit a nerve and satisfaction bloomed in her chest because of it. Though, when he spoke next, continuing on as if he hadn't been interrupted, he showed no sign of his irritation with her. He looked as calm and collected as ever.  _Damn him._

“We will be in separate establishments, so you won’t see us unless you wish. I am merely there to see you safe. You have more enemies than you realize, Agent Keen." His tone was clipped and tense. Professional. The message he sent with it was unnerving. Enemies? It sounded like her and the Task Force had made some friends. "Now,” He beamed at the last word, removed the last suitcase from the car, and shut the trunk lid with a flourish. He glanced between her and Dembe, looking almost as cheerful as he’d been in the car; like he hadn’t just shattered Liz’s hopes and dreams. “Let’s get settled, shall we? I’d hate to keep poor Edward waiting.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all. Sorry for the long period of time between updates, I've been trying to figure out where this story is going to go. Thank you all so much for reading, leaving kudos, commenting. Means the world to me!! And please, if you have suggestions for me or want to see something happen in the story, tell me and I'll do my best to make it happen. I need as much help as possible here! :)

Sweden is beautiful; it’s everything she expected yet, at the same time, not at all.

Dembe gently shakes her awake and informs her that they’ll soon be landing in the country’s capital. As soon as he disappears back into the cockpit, Liz leans over towards the window to pull the blinds up and peer outside. A gasp leaves her lips.

The first thing she sees through the tiny window of the jet is beautiful, blue water and colorful buildings. She loves it instantly.

When she imagined Sweden, she thought cold and remote. Tiny fishing villages. Mountains. Lots of snow. But this? This is nothing she imagined. She feels like she should be in Venice. All the old buildings, a thousand different shades of reds and greens and gold, completely destroy her expectations of this country. There’s no mountains here, like Red talked about, in fact it’s rather flat...But, as if reading her mind, he quickly assures her that that all changes once they go a little further north. So her expectations aren’t as skewed as she’d thought; she’d just forgotten how big this country was.

Red is watching her. She can feel his eyes on her. She doesn’t turn around to acknowledge him though, too fascinated by the scenery before her to care, and he doesn’t offer to say anymore.

The entire ten hour plane ride had been quiet and tense. Red hadn't spoken much at all, finding company in his glass of scotch and a book throughout the trip, and when he did take time to speak with her or answer questions, he’d seemed unusually reserved. She’s not sure if she’d been to blame or not - she probably is, after accusing him of being the only reason she needed his security - but whatever is it is, the tension between the two of them made for a long flight. She was just glad that the Dramamine she took before takeoff made her drowsy enough to sleep through half of it. And the car ride from Stockholm, Sweden’s glorious capital, to the countryside where their vacation house awaited them was equally as bad.

Reddington acted as the perfect tour guide, as he’d claimed, instructing Dembe to drive past every major historical marker between the jet and their safe house, and giving her detailed history on the towns they drove through and the monuments within them. Occasionally, he would point out the best places to eat - but when he wasn’t playing history teacher or travel agent with a cheeriness she knew was false, he was back to being silent and distracted. Only this time he didn’t have his book to thumb through and settled for staring out the window.

Something was off. She couldn’t for the life of her figure out why that was so. She kept looking at Dembe, trying to catch his eye in the mirror to silently ask what was wrong with his employer, but, naturally, he never looked up and left her to ponder Red’s distress by herself.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were pouting.” She can’t help it. The silence is too thick, too grating, and she has to say _something_...even if it does start a fight.

Dembe’s eyes flutter closed and he heaves a resigned sigh - and _now_ he looks her way, the bastard - reminding her of a parent whom had just broken up a fight between siblings only for one of them to pick it up again, as Reddington slowly turns away from the window to look at her.

A golden eyebrow hooks over his amber sunglasses and Reddington looks annoyed, and amused, and scandalized all at the same time. But, mostly, he just looks annoyed. “I beg your pardon?”

For a second, Liz thinks about retreating and laughing it off because the look in his eyes makes her want to shrivel up, but she’s Elizabeth Keen and it would be out of character to back down. So she sits up a little taller and crosses her arms. “You haven’t spoken four words to me since we left. You’re pouting.”

Red sighs, locks eyes with Dembe in the mirror to roll his eyes, then looks back at her. “‘I beg your pardon’ is four words, Lizzie. And I’ve spoken plenty before that - or did you miss my entire lecture on the Fotografiska?”

She’s heard everything he’s said, but he’s spoken _at_ her not _with_ her. “Look, Red, if you’re upset about what I said earlier…”

“I’m not-” Red scrunches his face up, as if even thinking of the word leaves a sour taste in his mouth. “- _pouting_ , Elizabeth. I’m enjoying the scenery.” He turns his back on her, dismissing their conversation without further argument. All it does is strengthen her earlier point. “Which is something you should be doing as well. I mean, look at this place! How could you not love this?”

They fall silent again after that. She hopes whatever is bothering him gets resolved soon. She’s not about to let him ruin this for her.

In an attempt to cheer him up, as well as try and come to terms with his role in her vacation, Liz gestures with her head towards the Gulf beside them as they drive alongside it. A man’s in a wet suit on the beach with his snorkeling gear by his feet, changing into dry clothes. They zoomed past before she could point him out to Reddington, but he’d captured her attention regardless. “Have you ever been snorkeling, Red? I want to try that while we’re here.”

He looked up at her in surprise, blinking at her like he’d forgotten she was there, then gave the briefest of smiles. “I used to as a boy. When school was out for the summers, I’d spend all my time at the beaches near my family’s home hunting for mussels and abalones.”

There. That was better. He looked more relaxed now, expression softening with nostalgia, and whatever bothered him earlier seemed to have been pushed onto the backburner. “Why don’t you do it any more?”

“I had a near miss with a shark as a teen when my father was transferred to Florida,” he explained. He gazed past her to stare wistfully out at the water. She couldn’t help but think he looked at it like it was an old friend. “It lost it’s appeal after that.”

“Yet you joined the Navy?”

He chuckled and tore his gaze away from the Gulf to settle his attention back on her. The wistfulness he’d held in his eyes for the water didn’t fade as he looked at her. Perhaps, in his eyes, she and the ocean were one in the same. “Yes. But, if you were to ever read my military records, you’d notice that not once did I ever request transfer to anyplace sharks frequented.”

Liz couldn't help it. She laughed. Who would have thought the fourth most dangerous man in the world was afraid of sharks? Immediately, the mood in the car lightened and the silence in the vehicle became more companionable.

The sky was blooming rapidly into oranges and purples and yellows. It took her breath away as they sped down the road. The Gulf seemed never ending, even though she knew Finland’s coast was somewhere out there on the horizon. “You were right… It _is_ beautiful.” She breathed.

"I'm always right, Lizzie." There was a grin in his voice. 

Liz rolled her eyes and turned around to look at him, but he had been watching her and not the sunset. “No you're not. But are you seeing this?”

“Yes.” He smiled at her, finally looking over her head at the view behind her. “Breathtaking, isn’t it?”

“Yeah…” She turned back in her seat. Tom, or at least the Tom she married, would have loved to see this. He had gone through a photography phase there for awhile. They would have had a photo of this particular sunset blown up and framed on their wall.

She yanked back hard on the reigns. No. Tom Keen, or Jacob - or whatever the hell his name was these days - had no business in her thoughts anymore.

Liz quickly turned away from the view to her right, refusing to look at it now that thoughts of her ex-husband had spoiled it, and focused instead on the road ahead.

She could feel Red’s eyes on her again. He knows what she’s thinking, but he doesn't say a word. He does, however, take her hand in his and give her fingers a gentle, reassuring squeeze that she takes more comfort from than she cares to admit.

Raymond Reddington is the source of all her problems. She should hate him, and a lot of the time she does, but she takes comfort in his presence anyway.

He pulls his hand away after a few moments, and Liz finds herself almost taking his hand back. Almost.

* * *

“Well?” Red slammed the car door shut and adjusted the fedora atop his head. He squinted at the building before them. "What do you think?”

He stopped to lean against the car, hands clasped atop the roof, and peered over at her while she fought for an answer.

She was speechless. Before her was a large villa - large enough to house an entire extended family. It was two and a half stories tall, decorated with gray stone and cedar, and was surrounded by acres and acres of lush, beautiful fields and vineyards. Beyond the thin treeline to her right, she could hear the ocean - meaning the Gulf was within walking distance. “Is it yours?” She couldn’t believe that, of all the questions she could have asked him, that was the one that came to mind.

“In theory, yes. But it truly belongs to an associate of mine. He needed out of the country for a time due to some unfortunate legal issues; I provided assistance and he agreed to loan me his property while he is...away...as payment. Seeing as how I’m not sure he’ll ever return...I’d say it could almost safely be called mine.”

Liz hooked an eyebrow. She was about to question him further, when she decided it didn’t matter. She wasn’t honestly all that sure she wanted to know.

She stepped away from the Mercedes, momentarily forgetting her luggage, and bounded up the stairs to the villa. She glanced back at Red in question before opening the door, and he nodded his approval; she was more than welcome to go inside.

The entire place was huge. Not as fancy as she’d imagined it to be at first glance. In fact, it was almost...modest. Simple. All hardwood floors and trim; set up like a farmhouse. It reminded her of her Aunt June’s home. She ran her fingers across the mantle of the fireplace with a pleased smile. She wouldn’t mind staying here for awhile.

Red and Dembe followed her inside, laden down with luggage, and Red dropped his in the doorway. Dembe switched on a few more lights, illuminating the room in a soft glow. “Your bedroom is upstairs, Lizzie. Why don’t you go check it out?”

Her room left her breathless. It was much bigger than the one she shared with Tom in their brownstone. It was decorated with dark-stained furniture - two dressers, a large bookcase, a pair of nightstands and a desk. The bed was a King, decorated with red silk sheets and a heavy down comforter. The room held a small fireplace in the corner, useful for the cold winter nights that were no doubt already upon them, and the bathroom - oh, the _bathroom_.

Red walked in just as she was drooling over the large, stone walk-in shower.

She turned around to see him fiddling with his hat, a small smile at his lips as he watched her admire everything. He reminded her of a man watching his loved one open up a Christmas present he was really excited to give; eager to please and waiting with baited breath for her reaction.

“It’s got three showerheads.” _Wow, way to state the obvious, Liz._ Her brain to mouth function was obviously broken today.

She expected him to make fun of her, but he only chuckled and offered her his arm. “It does. Would you like a tour of the rest of the house?”

She nodded, and with one last longing look at the shower, she hooked her arm in his and allowed him to lead her around the house. There were five bedrooms in total, hers and one other room looking like they were actually fit to sleep in - all the others appeared to just be setup for decoration - three bathrooms, one large beautiful kitchen (if she cooked more, she’d be more in awe of it’s double ovens and gigantic island - instead she just inwardly freaked out over the stone pizza oven built into the wall), a reading nook, another fireplace in the living room, and a wine cellar in the basement.

Dembe took over the tour of the outside after Raymond got a phone call and stepped away to answer, and the tall body guard led her to where he and Red would be staying. It was a good portion smaller than the villa, made of the same materials but only a story high and no less stunning on the inside, and Dembe explained that it was the Mother-In-Law apartment.

So he’d been telling the truth about separate establishments then…

It was a little redundant, though. There was more than enough room in the villa for the three of them. However, if Red insisted they stay elsewhere, Liz certainly wouldn’t complain.

Red was waiting for them on the porch, leaning against the doorframe with a cigar in hand, when Dembe finished the tour. Red passed his burner back to Dembe and took a long draw from the cigar. “Dembe, give Mr. Kaplan a call. You know what it’s about.” The Concierge of Crime and his bodyguard shared looks and Dembe nodded before disappearing back into the Mother-In-Law suite. Wordlessly, Red turned his gaze on Liz and held out his arm for her to take.

Liz took it without hesitation. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Arm in arm, they walked towards the treeline Liz had noticed earlier. A short trek through the woods led them onto to a rocky cliff, overlooking the Gulf beyond. It was well into dusk, but the dying light from the sun and the rising light of the moon was still just enough to see by.

The waves slowly lapped against the rocks below and far away, a seagull crowed, but other than that, it was quiet. Peaceful.

Cigar smoke and Red’s cologne filled her nostrils, as well as the salty scent of sea, and Liz let her eyes flutter closed to properly enjoy the mix of smells and sounds she was experiencing.

Red’s arm is warm against her own. “Some days I wish I lived a quiet life.” His rich, gravelly voice adds to the pleasurable sounds around her and Liz can’t help but shiver. He takes another draw from his cigar and lowers it, tapping the ash from the end with his forefinger. “Perhaps as a fisherman, with a tiny cabin on this very spot, surrounded by the sea day in and day out. To a fisherman, the only thing that matters is fish. How much will he catch today? Will it be enough to eat for the night? To help pay for the gear expenses? He doesn’t care about anything else. I envy that sort of simplicity.”

Liz opened her eyes, breaking herself out of the peaceful spell she was under to look at the man beside her. “There’s still time for that, you know. You can always retire.”

Red chuckled tiredly and shook his head slowly. “There’s no retiring from this life, Lizzie.”

Unconsciously, she pulled him closer to her. The urge to rest her head on his shoulder was strong because he sounds so sad, but she doesn’t. “Well. You and I have two weeks of vacation time. You can be whatever and whoever you want here...just don’t bring any of that fish into my place.”

 

 


End file.
